I guess the superstition of doppelgängers was true, he thought, feeling cracks spread everywhere Missy had touched him. He healed his tongue next, confirming his suspicion.
His intent hadn't been only to induce a bit of trauma by challenging Missy's idea of him taking a female form—by becoming her doppelgänger.
It was to stop her perverse desires before they spiraled out of control.
And to test how accurate this world's superstitions truly were.
From his killing spree and memory searches, he had already formed a rough understanding of this world.
The first thing that stood out was its technological advancement. Despite the world being set in the 1980s, most of its electronics were closer to the 2000s.
Flip phones, iPods, smart computers, flat-screen TVs, and advanced medical equipment far exceeded what they should have been—ranging from the early 2000s to even the 2010s—while the rest of the world remained stuck in 1987.
Superpowers followed a familiar hierarchy. America, China, and Russia remained the top three.
But there was a surprise contender.
Germany—close behind Russia—had become a dominant force in medical technology.
Though it was considered a locked country, ruled by a party he didn't remember from his old world:
Der Schwarze Bund der Ordnung.
The Black Covenant of Order.
It seemed In this world Germany's rise began at the end.
...
After their defeat in the Great War—one that mirrored the First World War before diverging sharply around 1916—the nation was left humiliated and economically shattered.
The Treaty of Versailles forced Germany to accept blame, surrender territory, reduce its military, and pay massive reparations—resulting in hyperinflation, unemployment, social unrest, and a loss of faith in democracy under the Weimar Republic.
All of this culminated in a single year that would come to be known as:
The Year of the Empty Throne (1918).
In that year, perhaps in an attempt to further separate themselves from collapse, the monarchy abdicated, installing a provisional technocratic council in its place.
This allowed Germany to avoid total military defeat, but it suffered severe internal fragmentation.
Border regions splintered into semi-autonomous zones.
Out of this chaos emerged a movement not fueled by revenge—but by fear of dissolution.
"A nation does not die by invasion alone. It dies when its borders become ideas instead of walls."
This belief became the foundation of the Schwarze Bund der Ordnung.
Their ideology was named:
Innere Souveränität (Inner Sovereignty).
It rested on five core tenets:
● A state must be self-contained
● Foreign influence is more dangerous than foreign armies
● Stability is moral
● Chaos is treason
● Expansion invites collapse
They believed history proved that empires fall by overreach, not weakness.
The Age of the First King (1918–1923)
In time, the council was disbanded.
Not because it was failing, but because its authority changed overnight.
The country was pulled back into a feudal structure with the appointment of the second Child of God, born in the slums.
Five council members claimed they had been visited by the Heavenly Father, warning them that a great evil would soon walk the land.
They were instructed to gather His twelve children.
The news spread with skepticism. The nation was divided—atheists dismissed it as propaganda, while the faithful believed their Lord had not forsaken their motherland.
Representatives of the Vatican soon arrived, remaining in the capital until God's Son was found.
The boy was first sighted walking absently through the streets by one of the Vatican officials, who had gone to the slums to aid the needy while the council searched for proof that God's children truly existed.
He was small, with a slender build. Hair like the morning sun, eyes like the sea—carrying a sorrow deeper than his years.
Yet when the priest saw him, none of that mattered.
His body was that of a child, but his spirit was angelic—a celestial shadow stretching over the city.
This boy was Lichtel.
Lichtel der Gottkinder.
The light that illuminates the rest of his brethren.
The first celestial spirit of light, responsible for restructuring the council around himself.
He united the people, the Vatican, and the military, and was appointed the figurehead of the Holy German Empire.
The councilmen who guided his rise established themselves as:
Der Zentrale Ordnungsrat.
The Central Council of Order.
Later folded into the Schwarze Bund der Ordnung.
They began searching for the remaining twelve, aided by Vatican priests. Slowly, their influence within the Christian world grew.
Pilgrims from across the globe traveled to Germany to pay homage to Lichtel, the toddler-king.
They came bearing gifts, aid, and supplies for the poor. Audiences with the king required no wealth—only faith and service to the needy.
Not everyone believed.
Many dismissed it as a publicity stunt, leaving the world divided. Believers funded Germany's growth little by little, calling it the Promised Land.
Non-believers saw a threat forming and feared a second war born from blind faith.
The Year of Mourning and Miracles (1928)
At the king's fifteenth birthday celebration, he was paraded between cities, blessing the people with bread and wine.
A gunshot rang out.
The next morning, his death filled the newspapers.
Unknown assailant shoots king.
Global assassination.
Heretic attacks royal parade.
The nation fell silent—until a miracle occurred.
On the day of his funeral, his corpse was dressed in white, a cross on his chest, and laid in an open casket for all to see—and filmed for those who could not attend.
The sick, poor, and destitute from the slums where he was found were gathered inside the hollowed grounds—the closest thing Lichtel had to family.
They wept for the child taken too soon. Bells chimed as heaven welcomed back its angel.
But as the last light of dawn passed, the sick were healed before everyone's eyes.
And in that light stood a girl barely older than Lichtel.
She glowed even as the sun dipped low, her dark brown eyes igniting into radiant gold.
She was Seelchen, the second of the twelve Children of Christ.
She inherited the throne as Lichtel's spiritual successor.
The Der Zentrale Ordnungsrat, having learned from past mistakes, restricted her public appearances—sending vessels in her place.
It did not stop the assassination attempts.
In two years of rule, she was poisoned, stabbed by an undercover maid, and multiple body doubles were shot and killed.
Fear consumed Germany.
Queen Seelchen lived in constant dread, barricading herself within her chambers, trusting neither aides nor soldiers.
She rarely ate. Rarely opened her curtains.
She lived as a stranger in her own kingdom.
"Y-you—how did you get in here?!" Seelchen screamed.
"Guards! Guards!"
That was the last recorded audio captured from the wiretaps in her room.
When guards arrived, they found two sentries outside her chamber—jagged claw marks cleaved through their chests. Their weapons lay untouched on the floor.
Flames poured from the queen's chambers.
Inside stood a red-skinned figure, holding Seelchen's severed head.
In its grasp pulsed a white core of mist.
"The devil! It's the devil—"
This was the only public audio from the 1930 Royal Wing Fire, which claimed over twenty lives.
It was the first recorded encounter with "the Devil."
The incident made Qiren consider that supernatural experts might truly exist.
Today, many dismiss it as a conspiracy—an excuse to solidify Germany as a Christian state and erase war debt.
But Qiren doubted they would sacrifice global influence by sealing their borders and advanced healthcare.
Germany refused direct flights, immigration, trade quotas, and transit permissions—working solely through the Vatican.
After the fire, they grew paranoid, implementing strict laws:
● Border fortification
● Infrastructure internalization
● Energy independence
● Withdrawal from international institutions
To this day, they maintain total containment.
Some say they are building weapons, biding their time.
But to Qiren, it looked like preparation.
Preparation for the prophecy—that a great evil would walk the land.
What if it was true?
Were there truly twelve Children of God?
He needed to test this world's mysticism.
And the most famous superstition was that of doppelgängers.
An ominous harbinger.
Encountering one's double meant imminent death.
Either you killed them—or they killed you and took your place.
Only one could exist.
That was why he became Missy's double.
The reaction wasn't instant—but he felt it.
The world's repulsive force pressed against him.
His spiritual chain shortened.
His skin began to crack…
"One more bullet enters the chamber," Qiren murmured, sitting opposite Missy.
He returned to his jester form. The revolver felt cool and familiar in his hand, heavier now as he slid a third bullet into the cylinder.
Click.
The sound echoed too loudly in the quiet room.
"This is really difficult," Missy said, failing to match a seventh set.
She flipped her cards over. "I need to focus on remembering the positions of known life cards, match candidates, and—Eight of Spades!"
Her eyes lit up as she revealed her new card.
Missy remembered seeing its pair somewhere to her left.
"Uhhh…"
She paused, fingers hovering between two cards.
"Which one was it?"
"You better pick carefully," Qiren teased. He tilted the revolver, its barrel lazily aligning with the Eight of Spades—the one marked I'll die. "Out of fifty-eight cards, you might just pair up with death."
"I know…" She practically panted with anticipation.
Her heart thudded loudly enough that Qiren could almost feel it through the table.
He has three bullets, she thought. If I draw the wrong one, there's a two-in-three chance I live.
She reached for a card at random, hesitated, pulled back—then chose another.
Her pulse spiked as she flipped it.
"It's an Eight. Ha… ha."
Missy got it right.
In the next moment, curiosity got the better of her. She reached for the other card she could have chosen.
"Let's see my fate with you, huh? Would I have lived or died?"
She turned it over.
A Four of Diamonds.
"Another death card."
She chuckled. "You could've taken me out, little buddy."
Her lips cracked into a smirk as a rush of endorphins hit her.
"You still can."
She looked back down at the table. If she'd flipped that card on impulse, she'd now be forced to pair it—or match it with an unrelated life card.
Missy rested her chin on her knee.
"Mr. Solitaire…"
Her lips parted as she let out a hesitant breath. Her fingers brushed the back of another card.
This is it, she thought. My gamble.
She looked up at Qiren.
"I want you to do me a favor."
"Hm." He hummed thoughtfully, eyes never leaving her. The revolver spun around his finger, metal whispering against skin. One slip—one mishap—and the trigger would be pulled.
"What kind of favor?"
The air felt tight, charged. Even Qiren felt it pressing against his senses.
"I think I worked myself into a corner here," she said, "and I might really get shot. I want you to make a new rule."
"A new rule?" he murmured. "This far into the game?"
She nodded, her gaze fixed on the spinning gun as it swirled beneath the low light. She spoke beneath the moving barrel.
"I know it's a bit much. That's why I called it a favor."
"It won't change your rules," she continued quickly, "just a small addition."
"All right," Qiren said, slowing the spin and catching the revolver cleanly. "You seem sincere enough. I'll hear you out, and then I'll decide."
Her face beamed. "Thanks for hearing me out."
"The favor is related to being shot," she said. "Every time you have three bullets in your barrel, I want to make a prediction—whether my card is a death card or not."
She tapped the face-down card.
"Just like now. And if I guess correctly that it's a death card, I get to cover my head with my arms before you shoot."
Qiren chuckled, shaking his head.
"You do know human arms are mostly muscle and relatively thin bone. They don't reliably stop or 'neutralize' a bullet at point-blank range."
He stopped twirling the gun, deliberately tossing and catching it to avoid brushing the trigger.
"But I like it," he laughed. "The chance of your arms distributing the bullet's momentum is slim."
He tilted his head.
"You might miraculously survive—under the right conditions."
"Very well," he continued. "I approve the rule. But it's lacking something. You've only mentioned what happens if you guess right."
He leaned forward slightly.
"If you guess wrong, I cut your time in half. We're five minutes into the game. Out of the original fifteen I gave you, if you lose the prediction, you'll have five minutes left to finish."
"Hmph." She huffed proudly. "Let's do it. My prediction is that this is a death card."
She flipped it.
It was.
They both smiled.
"I was right."
"I guess you were," Qiren replied.
She grinned, grabbing her jacket and wrapping it around one arm before crossing both over her head.
"I'm ready when you are."
"We're skipping foreplay now?" Qiren said dryly. "I thought women loved being worked up into the moment."
Click.
The cylinder locked into place.
"You know I'm not most women," she snapped. "So shut up and shoot me already."